


The Adversary

by Little_Firestar84



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Immortality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Firestar84/pseuds/Little_Firestar84
Summary: All they've been taught, is to hate each other. But how can you, when the two of you are all that's left, when death and fire and destruction and war surround you- and yet, neither of you can stay dead?
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 9
Kudos: 278





	The Adversary

**Author's Note:**

> Title and general idea loosely inspired by LeCarrere's The Adversary

When Niccolo wakes up, still sore, tired and _scared,_ the enemy, the other, is standing right before him, a huge stone in his hands, ready to strike. 

Acting on instincts, he grabs his knife and, one second before the stone hits him, he stabs the man before him, and they both fall on the ground. 

Pain. Moans. Blood. And death. 

Or so he thinks- because he wakes up yet again, and all around him there’s only bloodshed, and death, and fire and destruction. 

He’s the only one alive…. With the exception of the other. 

Arrows. Swords. Stoned. Their bare hands. They try everything. But nothing works. 

None of them wantsto stay dead. 

Days and days and days later- when they almost starving to death, when they haven’t sipped a drop of water in way too long- they simply sit before each other, looking into the eyes of their enemy. 

All around them, there’s only death. 

They are the sole survivors- because something doesn’t want to keep them dead. 

The crusade warrior offers his hand to the man right before him, with the kind smile he usually gave to children in his neighborhood, little kids running through the alleys of his hometown, trying to steal little pieces of focaccia from the shops.

“Niccolo di Genova,” he just says, in his own language, because nobody ever thought him anything else, besides that he is supposed to hate the man before him, and his people -but, right now, he doesn’t think that it’s right- not when their hate brought simply to the death of all of their people. 

“Yusif ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn ai-Kaysani al Tayyib,” the other answers, nodding, offering his hand to shake. 

“Yosef.” Niccolo smirks a little, his lips in a tight line. “ _I think I’ll call you Yosef, if you don’t mind.”_

Over a millennia later, he still doesn’t. 


End file.
